


Guilty of Love in the First Degree

by clementinedyke



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Hook-Up, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Walks In The Park
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:31:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clementinedyke/pseuds/clementinedyke
Summary: Mark's got a dirty little secret.EDIT: fixed some small grammar errors





	1. Sex Appeal, You Clench Your Fists Around the Love You Steal

**Author's Note:**

> song title from men in love by gossip  
> all chapter titles from shame ii by bulldog eyes

Mark laid there, in another crappy motel room that reeked of stale takeout and sex, and he breathed in. He couldn’t get up, couldn’t move, but he wasn’t trapped. He could leave if we wanted to.

 

If he wanted to.

 

The man next to him shuffled, pulling the blanket higher over his naked torso, and turned towards Mark with lidded eyes. His hair was mussed and he had a small bump on the bridge of his nose. It hadn’t been there before.

 

Mark could have detailed every inch of his body before. Now he has scars, bumps, and bruises. Sensitive spots that were never there before. _’Shit- be careful’_ spots and _‘God, do that again’_ spots. He took the time to remap them in his mind.

 

“What time is it?” The man in question asked in a hoarse voice, pulling Mark from his reveries.

 

“It’s getting late, I should head back,” Mark answered, but made no effort to move, still curled under the covers. A heavy arm snaked around his waist and pulled him closer, breathing warmly in his ear.

 

“ _Stay._ ”

 

And who was he to say no to a voice like that?

 

* * *

 

Every time Mark came back home, he felt guilty. He felt like Joanie somehow knew what he was doing, could smell Damien on his neck, see him in the wrinkles of clothes. There was no way she could, of course, but it kept nagging at the back of his mind that his fear was something to take note of.

 

 _Maybe it’s your conscience,_ his mind helpfully supplied. He drowned that part of his mind out with more whiskey.

 

Words like “relapse” and “setbacks in progress” were thrown at him when she came home from a hard day’s work to find Mark sitting- or lying, or crying, or sleeping- on the couch with a bottle in his hand. He started drinking at night instead.

 

His mind spun every time he grabbed his keys and slung on a jacket, trying and failing to leave the house quietly in the early hours of the morning. He always left a note on the door, ‘ _left early to get some pics of the sunset :)',_ or _‘wanted to see darwin, i’ll be @ sams for the day’._ Always lies, but he needed an excuse. He wasn’t sure if Joanie had checked in with Sam or Chloe just to call his bluff, but she never brought it up if she had. He can recall every drunk conversation he’s had with her while she pulled him off the couch and into his bedroom.

He just needed to get _away,_ that was all. Needed something to take his mind of the- the what? What was it again? God, he was _trying_ , Joanie. He just needed _time._ Give him some _space,_ for _Christ’s sake._

 

Space was the opposite of what he needed, he thought wryly. He needed _him._

 

And god, did Damien need him too.

 

He would arrive at a door- his apartment or a cheap motel room, depending- and he would knock their secret knock. Two raps, a pause, then one more. Damien would open the door- in various states of undress, also depending- and invite Mark in. They would steep in the atmosphere for a moment, then they’d be on each other.

 

All wandering hands and open mouths, tugging on hair and clothes, stumbling to a bed or table or, god, _any_ flat surface. Just _something_ to get them _closer_ because Mark will _die_ if he doesn’t have Damien _right now_ and Damien will _die_ if Mark isn’t his for even a _split_ second. They’ll move in sync, desire gushing from every pore in their skin. Desire in the glances they share, desire in the sweat rolling down Damien’s temple, desire in every breath Mark takes.

 

Then it’ll be over, and they’ll lie there. Covered in love bites and scratch marks, or not( _Ngh- wait, Joanie’ll be home tomorrow- Stop she’ll_ see-), and tracing each other’s faces as if it’s the last time they’ll ever be together, cause, hell, it could be.

 

Other days, they’ll just sit and talk. ' _We should get a dog'_ talk and ' _I can’t believe you don’t like Depeche Mode'_ talk, or, on worse days, ' _I’m never going to forgive you'_ talk and ' _I told you it’s fucking over_ 'talk. Those days never last.

 

It’s not always Mark, because, deny as he might, Damien needed him just as much. An innocent ‘ _Joanie just left grocery shopping. She’ll be gone for a few hours.”_ text enticed him just as much as the darkness that shone in Mark’s eyes when he opened the door. It was days like those that left Damien shaking, begging, always coming back for more. Muttering curses and being shoved out the back door to hop the fence when the car pulled into the driveway earlier than expected.

 

“Mark? Are you here? I got lunch,” Mark could hear the jingle of keys and the thump of boots hitting the floor, the rustling of a plastic bag of takeout.

 

“Uh, yeah. In the kitchen.” Mark had sat carefully on a bar stool, knees pushed under the counter. He saw Joanie peer around the corner.

 

“Are you okay? It smells like smoke,” she sniffed the air softly. That was Damien, he always smelled like that. Cigarettes and sex. Jesus.

 

“Yeah I was uh- I tried cooking a little.” Mark shifted in his seat as she placed the bag of food in front of him. He opened his mouth to explain but was cut off with a strange look from his sister, brows drawn together and eyes trained on the ground. He followed her gaze and saw a black hoodie fallen on the ground, sleeves turned inside-out in a rush to get it off, and contents spilled from the pocket.

 

“Whose hoodie is that, Mark?” Her eyes were directed at him now, a nearly imperceptible frown on her lips.

 

“No, I uh- It’s mine. I just went and bought it the other day. Y’know it’s starting to get colder now, hah.” Mark stood to grab the jacket but Joanie was faster. She picked it up off the ground, a phone, wallet, and set of earbuds falling out of the pocket.

 

Her eyes were glued to him now, heavy-set disappointment riddled in her features. “New phone?” She knew it wasn’t. She had bought him his phone, they were on the same plan.

 

“Joanie, that’s not funny. Give it back- ” Mark reached for the jacket but she took a step back.

 

“You’re a bad liar.”

 

“And you’re an _asshole_ . Give it _back!_ ” He lunged for her, arms extended to grab it. He didn’t know why he felt the need to justify himself, but he needed that fucking jacket. That was _Damien’s_ and she couldn’t fucking _know._ She’d ruin _everything._

They grappled at each other like children, wrestling then scrambling after it. Mark got a hold of the jacket and ran inside the bathroom, locking the door. With his back against it, he slid to the floor and breathed in the smell of the hoodie. The smell of _Damien._

 

His wallet, his phone, his _ID_ was still out there. Joanie hit the bathroom door with her fist, “Mark, open the door. You’re acting like a CHILD.”

 

He bit his lip to stay silent. There was nothing he could say now to prevent what was soon to come. She would go back into the kitchen, open his wallet and _see_ whose it was and it would be _over._

 


	2. Bleeding Through the Shameful Thoughts That Make Me Shake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> damien pays mark a visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lil bit of vague sexual content and violence in this one but again its REALLY vague

The days that followed were tense, more so than usual. Mark had fallen asleep in the bathroom that night, lulled by the scent of Damien’s jacket and a slowly subsiding terror, and when he woke up the next morning, Joanie was gone.

 

She, presumably, went to work, but she had never left without saying goodbye before. Mark couldn't find it in himself to be surprised. He spent the day at home, screening calls and wandering aimlessly in Damien’s over-sized hoodie (despite Damien being shorter than Mark himself) and boxers, with a bottle in hand.

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘left my jacket over there’_   [2:36 p.m.]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘wanna stop by?’_   [2:36 p.m.]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘mark’_   [2:41 p.m.]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘r u okay?’_   [2:43 p.m]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘pick up ur phone jesus im gettin worried’_   [3:02 p.m.]   

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘mark’_   [3:12 p.m.]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘i know ur gettin my calls i can c u screening these’_   [4:16 p.m.]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘mark’_   [5:00 p.m.]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘can i have my fucking hoodie back’_   [5:28 p.m.]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘fucking fine be that way’_   [5:46 p.m.]

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _‘call me when u decide to stop being a royal tier bitch’_   [5:48 p.m.]

 

Fine, then. Mark could function on his own. He didn’t _need_ Damien. He had a very charming personality, thank you very much. He could have anyone he wanted. So what if Joanie hated him now? She couldn’t control him. Mark was his own man, dammit. He could have  _anyone_ he wanted. Anyone.

 

Mark grabbed his coat and keys, bottle still in hand, and flung open the door, a cold wind pushing through the frame. And there Damien stood, hand suspended in the air to knock and eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Fuck_ this. Fuck _Mark_. Fuck the _cold_ and fuck the fact that he didn’t have his _jacket_ right now. Fuck _Dr. B_ for showing up early and making him leave his shit behind. Fuck her.

 

It was too cold for Mark to be pulling this bullshit identity crisis now. They were doing so _well._ Now Damien was trudging through shit layers of ice on the sidewalk (because he _still_ didn’t have his fucking driver’s license because he was _not_ going to spend 3 hours standing in line at the DMV) in a thin cap, gloves, and scarf over his only long sleeve t-shirt, just to get his _goddamn jacket back._

 

And maybe to check in on Mark, though he’d never say that out loud.

 

So, after a short(long) walk and only a mild(severe) case of frostbite, Damien arrived. He raised his hand to knock, only to be greeted with an open doorway and a Mark adorned in his own hoodie and, for some reason, no pants. Once Damien spotted the bottle in his hand, the situation became a bit more clear.

 

“Damien, what are-” he cleared his throat, kicking his coat and keys behind him from where he had dropped them, “What are you doing here?”

 

“Hello to you too, Mark. Why yes, I _would_ like to come inside from the freezing cold. How kind of you.” Damien shoved past into the living room, not bothering to excuse himself. He was freezing.

 

“Go put some pants on,” Damien sat on the couch, hands still shoved in his pockets but gloves and hat thrown off.

 

Mark cleared his thoughts, “Funny, I always thought you liked me better without them.”

 

“Are we really doing this?”

 

“Joanie’s at work.”

 

Damien stood up, but Mark crossed the room in two long strides, pushing him right back onto the couch and straddling his lap.

 

“I'll need my phone back, and my jacket.” Mark ignored him, busying his mouth around the juncture of his neck after pulling his scarf back and humming softly when Damien gripped his hips.

 

“Mark- you’re fucking drunk. Stop,” Damien squeezed his hips and shoved him lightly, ripping a soft whine from Mark’s throat as he pushed back to reach his throat with heavy-lidded eyes.

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

“I know what I don't want, and this is fucking it,” Damien moved his hands and shoved his shoulders, sliding Mark off his lap to the floor with a soft creak when his knees hit the hardwood. Mark’s eyes looked glassy for a moment, before darkening. He pushed himself up, gripping Damien’s knees and leaning forward into his space.

 

“What the fuck do you want from me, Damien? You come here after calling me for hours on some booty call manifesto and once we actually start getting somewhere you _back out?”_ Mark was in his face, breathing heavily. His eyes were wet.

 

“What is _wrong_ with you today? It's 2 in the afternoon and you're drinking like it's the end of the world. I came here to get my jacket, that’s it,” Damien spat and stood up, pushing Mark back to the floor. His neck felt hot where his mouth had been.

 

Mark’s eyes burned where Damien stared him down. He wasn't thinking straight- when was he ever?- but his frontal mind was screaming fight or flight, and he was tired of running.

 

“So all those calls asking me to come over meant _absolutely nothing?_ ” He scrambled to his feet and jabbed a finger into Damien’s chest. “Your intentions are always so god damn transparent; don't try to lie to me.”

 

The _I’ve been inside your head_ was left unsaid. As was the  _So have I._

 

Damien said something and his hands were on Mark once again, shoving him, and Mark pushed back. From there it was a blur once again. They tousled for god knows how long, throwing punches with no purpose but to leave a mark. Enough to bruise but not enough to be felt past the adrenaline.

 

Then there was calm.

 

They laid side-by-side, each with their head in the crook of the other's neck, breathing heavily. Mark had the beginning of a black eye, and Damien felt his nose and split lip bleeding sluggishly. They both packed a punch when they tried.

 

Both were sorry, but neither apologized.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angsty boys pt. 2


	3. Leave Vista's Vengeful Eyes Ice Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they get some coffee

It never really was enough, was it? No fight, no tousle, no fear-of-getting-caught. It was never enough to keep them apart. Damien was like a magnet, pulling everyone toward him until they were trapped in his orbit.

 

And Mark was… _Mark._ He had a voice you couldn’t help but listen to, a face you couldn’t help but memorize, a pair of eyes you couldn’t help but stare into, and a personality you couldn’t help but fall in love with. He was a beacon for Damien. Of what exactly, he couldn't say for sure, but he was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

 

For days at a time, they would visit each other and sit in silence, basking in the other’s presence. Mark had stopped inviting Damien to his house, too afraid of Joanie seeing them again, but it really was only a matter of time before they found ways around it. More hotels, Damien's apartment, even the dog park across the street from Joan's office.

 

It felt… normal. Mark couldn’t believe he had found a single thing in his life he could call normal. Even sitting in a shitty cafe, both scrolling on their phones with their ankles hooked under the table, Mark felt unsure about how casual it felt. It felt hazy, like a mirage he could wipe his hands through and blur it away into nothingness.

 

But Damien was there, and he was real, and Mark was real right by his side. He could feel the callouses on Damien's palms, the way the table slightly shook from how he bounced his knee, see how unruly his hair had grown since he last brushed it dry,  _finally_  letting the curls tangle as intended. 

 

Before they allowed themselves to enjoy each others company calmly, they acted as if they were running out of time. Now, in the softened atmosphere of the cafe, sharing headphones across the table so Damien could show Mark a video on his phone, it felt like they had all the time in the world.

 

A jingle of the chime on the door brought Mark’s attention away from the phone to the entrance over Damien’s shoulder. He cast Mark a disapproving pout as he pulled an earbud out and paused the video of a slobbery Saint Bernard dancing across the screen. Mark ducked his head just as soon as he had raised it, and Damien raised an eyebrow.

 

‘ _Rose_ ’, Mark mouthed.

 

‘ _What?’,_ Damien mouthed back.

 

‘ _ROSE’,_ Mark mouthed again, miming- what he thought to be- a blooming flower with his hand by spreading his fingers. Damien wrinkled his nose and furrowed his eyebrows in an  _I have no idea what the fuck you’re saying_ motion and turned around in his chair to face the line by the counter. Once he caught sight of her, Mark was pulling him by his hood to face forward.

 

“Are you trying to get us caught? You are so conspicuous.” Mark spoke quietly through gritted teeth.

 

“It’s not your fucking sister, we’re fine. It’s not like we’re-”

 

“Damien? Hey!”

 

“Shit.”

 

Rose jogged walked over with two steaming cups in hand, cheeks still flushed from the cold outside. “I didn’t know you came here. And Mark! I almost didn’t notice you. Small town, huh?” She smiled warmly.

 

“And getting smaller,” Damien grumbled under his breath but was cut off with a swift kick in the leg under the table.

 

“Yeah, it was actually a coincidence that we met here too. ‘Just figured we’d sit together. Save space.” Damien shot Mark a look and Mark shot one back. He’d become a freakishly good- borderline compulsive- liar over the past few months.

 

“Oh, that’s nice. I’d offer to hang out a little longer, but Emily and I have plans,” she hoisted the mug in her left hand as a graphic, “so I really should get going.”

 

“Isn’t that a shame. You really shouldn’t keep your lady in waiting,” Damien propped his head up onto his palm to meet her eye. Mark couldn’t tell from where he sat, but he could tell there was a conversation being exchanged between them he wasn’t hearing.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll text you later, Dames. Good seeing you, Mark!” She smiled brightly once again and gave a half-hearted shove with her elbow to Damien’s head as she walked out the door.

 

Mark turned his attention back towards the man across the table, now rubbing his head and grumbling akin to _something-something bitch something._

 

 _“Dames?_ ” Mark asked, unable to withhold a grin.

 

* * *

 

Mark suggested they take a walk and- despite his initial protest ( _are you fucking kidding me, it’s like 20 degrees and it’s_ snowing. _are you trying to give me hypothermia_ _)_ \- Damien agreed. In his hoodie, now returned and smelling suspiciously like Mark’s cologne, with cheeks and nose now ruddy from the biting wind, he trudged through the snow. Mark walked with him, shoulder to shoulder, with hands shoved deep in his pockets and lower face burrowed in a red scarf.

 

It was quiet once again, but they both felt no need to fill the silence. Mark blew out a warm breath, creating a swirling fog around his mouth, and Damien turned. His hair was growing out again, falling in trestles around his eyes and ears, and Damien could hardly hold back the urge to brush it out of his face.

 

Instead, he raised his arm and tugged gently on Mark’s sleeve. Mark smiled and took his hand from his pocket, slotting their fingers together in a perfect fit. He could read Damien now, understand his silent queues and speak a language no one had tried to learn before.

 

Mark often thought to himself, in quiet times like those that _maybe,_ just maybe, it could be love.

 

Or a scary-close approximation of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this ones so short!  
> pleeaaaase leave comments and kudos!! suggestions and ideas are muucch appreciated!


	4. To Live In Shame Is To Live In Hell, You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everybody has stuff on their mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @clementinedyke on tumblr!

Joan was worried.  She couldn’t help it.

 

Mark and she hadn’t talked for weeks. At first, she blamed it on her schedule with work, but it became very clear that he was avoiding her when she was home. He was back with Damien and she _knew_ it but intervening would only make things worse. That was the theory, at least.

 

She had started talking to Sam about it, sitting around her living room with scotch and wine and cooking shows playing softly on the TV. There was a picture of the three of them, Mark included, on the side-table. Seeing it now made her smile as if it was a cruel joke from before everything went pear-shaped between them. She tuned back into what Sam was saying.

 

“It- it just really felt like love, y’know? God, it’s so hard for me to think about that. I was alone for _years_ then I met _him_ and I couldn’t help myself. Then Damien got in his head and _hurt_ him and I- I don’t know if he’s the same person I fell in love with any more or if trying to be with him would make it worse-” Sam got more talkative when tipsy. 

“Sam.”

 

“What if they’re together _right now_ and we can’t do anything about it? I know you want Mark to be happy, but there’s no way Damien can be that for him. He’s _evil-”_

 

“Sam.”

 

“Sorry.” She sealed her lips once again and tilted her head away, pushing her hair back out of her face. Her cheeks were dusted with blush but Joan couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the alcohol. She looked beautiful. She told her so.

 

They were sitting on opposite ends of the couch: Sam with her ankles crossed, and Joan sitting on her feet, looking at her. She held out a hand and Sam crawled toward her, slotting in right by her side. They didn’t talk about it, but they found themselves in this position quite often. Joan ran her fingers through the hair at the base of Sam’s neck.

 

“It’s a fault of both of ours that we want to be in control, but he’s an adult. You can’t tell him what to do any more than I can, so it’s in his hands to decide what he wants.” Joan had had less to drink than Sam, but the slight buzzing feeling gave her the courage to put words to her thoughts.

 

“Would it be so bad to just talk to him about it?” Sam looked up at her through her eyelashes, a small frown on her lips.

 

“Baby steps, Sam. Baby steps,” she brought her glass back to her lips and chuckled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes Mark thought it'd be easier to just cut things off. Never talk to Damien again. Lock his doors, change his phone number, try to talk to Sam again and make things right.

 

Then his mood drops further and he lies face down on the living room floor, cheek pressed against the cool hardwood as tears pooled against the bridge of his nose. Things were getting better now and Damien was more than just a secret fling he had to hide from his sister like the weird porn magazines he stowed away as a teen. Damien  _meant_ something to him now, maybe he always had. Mark didn't want to think about it.

 

_Falling in love is like falling asleep: slowly, then all at once._

 

He couldn’t remember where he had heard the words before but they rung through his head like a mantra. He'd never anticipated falling in love, let alone with Damien, but here he was. A bit head over heels for the man who kidnapped and gaslighted him for months. After their date at the cafe, Mark had distanced himself slightly to sort out his thoughts, holding Damien at an arm's length before he tumbled wildly out of control.

 

And of course, there's the money line. _Control._ A running theme with seemingly everyone he knew. Control of their power, control of their feelings, control of their loved ones, control of their hated.

 

Mark wanted to see what would happen if everyone let go of the reins.

 

It wasn’t like he couldn’t take care of himself, he just didn’t quite like to. As much as he pushed it away, Mark reveled in the attention. His smile was made for a stage, his voice perfect for performance. Joanie always told him it was a shame he never got into acting, Mark always thought she was better suited for it.

 

But whatever. Damien had doubled down with his spam texting, sending one every few minutes. Most of them were pictures of dogs he found on his walks, out looking for a job, but there was the occasional

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _is everythin alright_

 

Or

 

 **_D ;)_ ** _do u wanna hang its been a hot minute_

  
Mark kept his phone on silent and drank bitterly from a water bottle, a habit he’d had to adapt after Joanie threw away all his booze. If he really wanted, he could message back and have Damien at his feet in 20, but it’s hard to fuck with so much on your mind, especially if the fuckee is the one _on_ your mind. He took another sip. 

 

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont @ me about my page breaks


	5. Lover's Lustful Lips Can't Make Them Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> joan makes poor decisions, and mark and sam are dragged through the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hadnt even realized its been almost a year since i last updated WHOOPS lol here it is tho. warning for sum explicit language n angst

This was a bad idea. This was  _ such  _ a  _ bad  _ idea. Mark didn't- Mark didn't  _ deserve  _ something like this, but Joan didn't know how to stop.

 

Below her, Sam was spread out on the bed, hair splayed in all directions, and Joan wanted nothing more than to just forget about Mark for  _ one minute. _

 

Sam's chest was heaving and her lips were red. Her skin was flushed from where her shirt stopped covering, all the way to the top of her ears. Joan kissed her once more and Sam leaned into it.

 

It was just a one-time thing. They just wanted to get stuff off their minds. They just wanted to think about something else. Something other than heartbreak and the fear of losing someone, other than confusion and hurt and exhaustion. 

 

Sam was already soaking by the time Joan could get her hands between her legs and  _ god.  _

 

She drew it out, edged along and made it last as long as possible. Anything to just  _ forget  _ for a little bit.

 

And they did. They forgot. And when they remembered, they did it again.

 

Joan wanted Sam, wanted her smile and her worry and her relentless caring. Sam wanted Joan, wanted her confidence and skill and her ability to move on. Because that's what this all was, right? This was Joan moving on, being the bigger person and letting Mark do as he wished. And this was Sam moving on, showing everyone she can love and  _ be  _ loved and that she doesn't  _ need  _ Mark.

 

It was only a matter of time before he found out.

 

He came back early in the morning, after a night at Damien's, and the note he had left on the door the night before fluttered to the ground when he shut it behind himself. He could smell eggs cooking, and there was soft music playing from the kitchen. When he walked in, he saw Joan standing at the stove cooking, Sam perched on the counter next to her. 

 

It was strangely domestic, them standing side-by-side, Sam's feet swinging to the beat of the music, and Joan humming along. She reached into a cabinet and pulled out two plates, serving eggs and toast onto each.

 

Joan was dressed, but Sam was wearing Joan's night robe. Joan had yet to notice his entrance, but Sam caught his eye. He cleared his throat.

 

“Hey, Joanie. Whatcha makin’?” She jumped slightly.

 

“..Just breakfast for me and Sam, we were up late last night working on plans.” She spoke over her shoulder, silver tongue practically thrashing in the air.

 

“Glad to hear it's coming along,” Mark could feel the lie in the air, felt the buzzing of Sam's power. When he felt her flicker, he made a conscious choice to stand his ground.

 

Joan's hair ruffled as Sam disappeared off the counter, and she looked up to turn off the stove. When she turned around, her brows were drawn low.

 

“What was that?”

 

“She left.” Mark narrowed his eyes back, feeling his hackles rising for a fight.

 

“Yes, no  _ shit _ , Mark. Right after you showed up.” She picked up the dirty dishes and dropped them into the sink before turning her attention to him full-on.

 

“Are you saying I forced her to leave?”

 

“Are you admitting it?”

 

Mark scoffed, “Of course, because  _ I'm  _ the one with things to admit.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Joan took a step forward, fists clenching at her sides.

 

“Sam was  _ wearing your clothes!”  _ Mark threw his hands into the air, “How long has this been going  on ?”

 

“How is that any of your  _ business? _ ” 

 

“It sure seemed to be  _ your  _ business when I started going out with other people.”

 

“Because other people meant  _ him!”  _

 

Her yell echoed in the air as it whipped for a split second, then Sam was back, standing shaken right by Joan. Her return seemed to pull Joan out of the fight, and her attention was quickly on the other girl.

 

Her hands were on Sam’s shoulders, petting at her hair, whispering soft 'Are you okay?'s and 'It's alright; you're here, I'm here's. Sam clung to Joan, head buried at her neck, and Joan trained her eyes on Mark over her back.  _ It's time for you to go. _

 

* * *

 

Mark slammed the door when he left and didn’t come back until a day later. Sam messaged him asking to talk, and it took most of his strength not to turn her down. He  _ knew  _ what it meant but he didn't want to face it. He'd been feeling like that quite a lot recently.

 

They met at Sam's apartment, Darwin winding between their feet as Mark entered.

 

“Please, uh, come on in! Sorry for the mess.” Sam kicked a spare cat toy to the side, but the room was otherwise spotless. He recognized it as her habit to deep-clean when anxious.

 

She led him to the dining table- as if he'd forgotten where it was- and sat down quickly, pulling on the ends of her hair.

 

“So...what did you want to talk about?” It seemed to be a decent place to start, in Mark's opinion, especially considering there was just about a million things he'd rather be doing. He knew exactly what she wanted to talk about, but he wanted to hear her say it. A deeper part of him wondered when he became so vindictive.

 

“About Joan, I-” She twisted her hands together, already flustered, and Mark raised his hands to stop her.

 

“It's not my business. Joanie has made that very,  _ very  _ clear.” Sam held her breath as he talked, eyebrows drawn up with worry.

 

“But it is!” she blurted, then took a beat to continue. “She's your sister and with our… our  _ past  _ it just wasn't fair of us to do that to you and we should have told you but we  _ didn't  _ and I'm  _ sorry. _ ”

 

Mark laid his head down on the table and sighed. He spoke muffled into the wooden surface.

 

“Why are you apologizing?”

 

“Because I-” 

 

Mark sat up straight again and looked her in the eye. “Sam. Really. You don't  _ need  _ to do this. You don't have to be the mediator between me and Joanie. It's not your job.”

 

“Then  _ talk to each other! _ ” Sam stood abruptly, knocking her chair over with a clatter. “You dance around each other like this and tell me I don't need to be involved but all you two do is  _ ignore  _ it and your sister is a god damn  _ therapist,  _ she should  _ know better! _ ” She took a deep breath and barreled on, face red and exasperated. “We left things on a  _ terrible  _ note and I wish I could go back and fix it but if therapy has taught me  _ anything _ , it's that not all of this is my fault. You swooped in like my prince charming and seemed to make everything better but the  _ second _ I try to accept it, you're off with that  _ monster! _ ”

 

Mark clenched his fists and stood up too, “Don't call him that.”

 

Sam was moving now, stepping out from the table and gesticulating wildly. “Who,  _ Damien?  _ The man who  _ kidnapped  _ and  _ traumatized  _ you? The man who broke Chloe's  _ brain _ and threatened to make me  _ kill myself?!  _ What is wrong with you?!”

 

Mark pulled on his hair and groaned angrily. “It's not  _ like that!”  _

 

“What is it like, then, Mark?! Tell me what it's like. Tell me you aren't staying at his house and hanging out with him and  _ running  _ from Joanie and I, and pretending nothing has  _ ever  _ gone wrong!”

 

Mark was close to tears of frustration when he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close to him, softly pressing his lips against her own, silencing her tirade. She relaxed into him for a split second before tensing up again and shoving him away. She looked disgusted and Mark felt guilt twisting in his gut because he  _ was  _ disgusting and he didn't know what  _ came over him- _

 

“You should go,” Sam wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and her expression was serious and tight. Mark couldn't help but parallel hers to Joanie's from a few days before.

 

He left silently, as he heard her fall to the ground and wipe at her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @clementinedyke and scream w me.....pls leave comments/kudos! yall keep me going!


End file.
